


The View from Above

by Lindenharp



Series: By Love Possessed [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dom!Robbie, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, sub!james
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:04:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindenharp/pseuds/Lindenharp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie and James are partners on the job and lovers in private. It's been working very well, but now everything is about to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the tail end of _To be His_ from Robbie's POV, and will make no sense whatsoever unless you read that first.
> 
> It was originally just a drabble. More than a year later, I wrote a second chapter exploring what happened next... which is why the rating has changed from Teen to Explicit.
> 
> This story describes the addition of a consensual Dom/sub dynamic to an existing sexual relationship. It contains bondage and explicit sex; do not read if these topics are distressing to you. It does not contain pain, punishment, abuse or humiliation (other than a brief mention that Robbie dislikes them).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie's only certain of three things...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble has become the first chapter of a longer work. I would like to once again acknowledge the help I received with this chapter. My thanks to UniquePOV for her encouragement and to Wendymr for a quick beta and a helpful suggestion.

Robbie stares at his motionless lover, crouching naked at his feet. He’s not sure what’s happening, though he’s got suspicions. What’s most important now is that James is waiting for him to respond. He reaches down one hand and lays it on the sleek blond head. James is still frozen, but he can feel the lad relax. He strokes his hair gently.

He’s only certain of three things:

This problem is not new.

It has to do with James and sex, which means it’s mind-bogglingly complicated.

Whatever it is, they’ll face it and resolve it together. As they always do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"So... are we talking about some kind of BDSM thing here?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps I should have posted this as a separate story, but it seemed too closely connected to the drabble that is now Chapter 1. My profuse thanks to my betas for this chapter: UniquePOV and ComplicatedLight for help, advice, cheerleading, and tough love. Ladies, I could not have done it without you.

Robbie’s fingers continue stroking James’s hair while his mind races. Priorities. They’ve got to talk, but first he has to get James calm and settled. “James? C’mon up here. I want to hold you.” No response. “James, get up please.” Robbie's got no clue what's going on, but the view from above is disturbing. Something is very wrong, and the lad seems frozen in place. Reluctantly, he decides to let DI Lewis do the talking. He doesn’t like to mix the roles of lover and governor, but it seems he’s got no choice right now. “James. Up, now. On the bed.” His voice is no louder, but it has a snap in it. What was a request is now an order.

James obeys. He stumbles to his feet, still shaking, and avoids looking at Robbie as he circles to the other side of the bed. He lies down with his back to Robbie, knees drawn up towards his chest. 

One step at a time, Robbie reminds himself. He rolls over, spooning against James’s back. He buries his face in the curve of his lover’s neck, and breathes in his scent: soap, sweat, the earthy musk of arousal, and hints of coffee and nicotine. It’s a scent that’s uniquely James, and Robbie reckons that he would recognise it blindfolded. Sometime later, James is breathing in a slower rhythm and his back is not as rigid. “Turn over, pet. We need to talk.” 

James obliges. His chin is pressed against his chest, his eyes downcast. 

“Look at me, love.” The face that meets his is wearing Sergeant Hathaway’s blandest mask. _Bugger_. “I’m not angry or disappointed. I _am_ worried. Something’s troubling you, and I won’t rest easy until I know what it is.” 

James sighs, and the mask slips away. “If we’re going to talk, I need to get dressed.” 

_Needs his armour_. “All right.” Robbie pulls on his own pants and trousers. “I’ll put the kettle on.” Robbie takes his tea into the lounge, and settles himself on the sofa. 

James joins him a minute later. He sits opposite Robbie in the armchair, and stares down into the mug of tea in his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to say anything,” he murmurs to the tea. 

“But the words came out. You must have needed to say them.” James shrugs. “You’re a private person, and I try to respect that, but if it has to do with us, you need to say something.” 

“I’m sorry,” James repeats. 

“Don’t apologise. So... are we talking about some kind of BDSM thing here?” 

James nearly drops his tea. He stares at Robbie, gobsmacked. “How—” 

Robbie rubs his forehead. “I used to work Vice, remember. And then, during the Massey case, with all those unusual photos, I read up a bit on bondage and such. Thought it might shed some light on the case.” 

"And did it?" 

"Nah. Massey wasn't looking for a relationship—he was just twisted and obsessed. An' that's enough of _that_ subject, thanks." He waits in silence. 

"Yes, it's a 'BDSM thing,'" James mutters to the rug at his feet. 

Robbie hopes his face doesn't betray how wildly his thoughts are spinning. From what he remembers, 'BDSM' covers a lot of territory, from casual playing around with fuzzy handcuffs to pain and humiliation and other things that it makes him sick to think about. The way that James was kowtowing at his feet—what does that mean? There's a lot that Robbie will do to make his bonny lad happy, but there are also lines he won't cross. "All right, then. I reckon we've got some talking to do." 

That brings James's head snapping up. "You can't mean that." 

"Really?" Robbie looks steadily at James. 

"You're not— You don't—" 

"Haven't we had this conversation before? I couldn't possibly be interested in you because I wasn't gay. Or bi, or whatever." 

"That's different," James protests. 

"Yeah, it is different." He pauses just long enough to be certain he's got James's full attention. "If I didn't fancy you, we wouldn't be together, except as mates. This is just... details." 

"Details?" James echoes. 

Robbie shrugs. "It's like toppings on a pizza, see? I love sausage, can't abide mushroom, think pineapple and ham ought to be illegal, and can sometimes be persuaded to join you in a pepperoni. Yeah, I'd say it's pretty much the same sort of thing." 

"But—" 

Robbie's starting to wonder if this is something James wants, after all. He's offering nothing but objections and excuses. He looks at his lover: fully clothed, sat on the far side of the room, arms folded across his chest. _He's afraid. Why is he afraid? The hard part's over_. James has confessed his secret desire. Robbie understands that this is part of who James is, and that accepting it—accepting _him_ —will make the lad happy. The rest truly is just details. 

Unless some of the details are things he's ashamed of? Or that he fears will make Robbie reject him? "Come here." He pats the sofa cushion in invitation. "You're too far away for this conversation." 

Slowly, James stands up and crosses to the sofa. He sits down, leaving a gap of at least a foot between them. Robbie wraps his left arm around James's shoulders and gently tugs. The younger man stiffens, then leans against Robbie's side. 

"I've got to tell you, pet, that there are some things I won't do. I'm hoping you don't like whips and such, because I couldn't bear to hurt you, even if I knew for certain that you wanted it." 

"No, I don't like pain. I would endure it if... never mind. What I am, primarily, is a submissive." 

"You want me to order you about in the bedroom? Don't you get enough of that at work?" 

"It's different. The context changes how I feel about it. Erm... think about running. Running for fun or exercise, running to catch a bus, running to catch a suspect."

"All right," Robbie says slowly. "I can see how that could be. So, have you ever... you know?" 

"Been in a submissive relationship?" 

Robbie nods. He knows that he's not James's first lover, nor even his first male lover. When they began this relationship, James felt obliged to confess his past. He didn't go into detail, nor name names—just made it clear that there had been others. Some at uni, some after he'd left the seminary. 

James pulls a face. "Depends on how you define relationship." He sighs. "I've had... attempts at relationships." 

_Meaning that you tried to give yourself to wankers who didn't know how to value what they were being offered. Play-acting so as to get a shag, or to make themselves feel important._ Robbie's indignation rises. "Anything else I ought to know? Important things." Though if they go through with this, there'll need to be a lot more conversations. 

"I think I might enjoy bondage," James says tentatively. 

"Have you ever tried it?" 

"A few times. It didn't go well." 

Robbie tenses. _What did they do to you, lad?_

James shakes his head. "Don't. Whatever you're imagining, it wasn't that. I just couldn't relax." He quirks the corner of his mouth in response to Robbie's look of disbelief. "Done right, bondage should be relaxing. Like being held tightly by your lover. And there's comfort in knowing that you can't move, can't resist—that you have no choice but to accept what happens. I tried to let go, to submit. I _wanted_ to... but I just couldn't." He says it like a confession of failure, of inadequacy. 

_You don't give your trust easily and I'm sure they didn't deserve it._ "I'll think about it." He's got a lot to think about, a lot to decide. 

He frowns. What was it that James said earlier? _"I want to be yours."_ And now he's described himself as a submissive. What does that mean, exactly? He's not like that at work. Yeah, he obeys his DI's orders, but he's a cheeky sod most of the time. He's even sauced the Chief Super a time or three. James wants to belong to him in a way that's different from being his subordinate, his friend, his lover. 

He tries to remember what he read in that book. There are different kinds of submission, ranging from make-believe to as close to real slavery as the law allows. James doesn't want role-play: he's sure of that much. Not some kind of master and slave game. 

Robbie desperately needs to know more. He's not ready for this, dammit! But years of marriage and a career as a copper have taught him that life never waits for you to be ready. Right now, he's got to do _something_. What matters most is that James understand he's wanted. Accepted. Claimed. 

How to do it? They can take time later to work out all kinds of details, but he's got to do something now. It shouldn't seem too kind or sentimental, as though he's humouring James. Symbols and rituals, meanings and metaphors... that's James's bailiwick. Robbie is just a plain-speaking copper. Only... James let something slip earlier in the bedroom, didn't he? Now that they've talked a little, Robbie has a better idea of what that bowing was all about. 

"James," he says firmly. "James Hathaway." James looks startled to hear Robbie using his full name. "James Hathaway, you are mine." He jabs his index finger at the floor in front of him. He doesn't allow himself to think about the embarrassing possibility that James will misunderstand. 

James scrambles off the sofa and drops to his knees. 

Robbie looks down at him with a sudden fierce satisfaction. "You're mine. Say it!" he growls. 

"I'm yours," James repeats. His voice is solemn; his face bright with joy. 

This should be enough. It's enough for Robbie, but he suspects that James needs something more. "Give us a kiss, then, love." He pushes gently on the top of James's head. 

James folds down like a collapsible beach chair: a bit stiff, but taking up less space than one would have guessed. His head tilts slightly and his mouth presses, warm and lingering, against the bare instep of Robbie's left foot. A long moment later, the right foot receives the same benediction. 

It should be awkward and foolish, even ridiculous, but it's nothing of the kind. He gazes down at the sleek blond head. Isn't this where they were less than an hour ago, James prostrated in front of him? Only then they were... disconnected. James was huddled in misery, and Robbie was distraught, not knowing what was wrong or how to help. Now, if he's sure of only one thing, it's that they are connected more strongly than ever. Maybe it's fanciful, but Robbie could swear that he feels something new and vital between them. 

James starts to rise, and Robbie presses down lightly on James's head with his outstretched palm. Obediently, James stills. _Mine!_ Robbie exults. With a quick tug on James's shoulders, he guides his lover back up into a kneeling position, head level with his own. "Mine," he says aloud. 

"Yours," James agrees, smiling. "Sir—" He freezes. 

This time, Robbie understands the hesitation. "It's all right, love. You can 'Sir' me when we're like this." Not all the time, he thinks. Not always during sex and cuddling. This new thing between them is going to please James. And to Robbie's surprise, it seems as though it's going to please him, too, only... he doesn't want it to change everything. He doesn't want to lose the free and easy intimacy that they've been enjoying. 

That's one of a million things they've got to figure out. "We'll need to talk some more, but not tonight. Let's have another kiss, and then I want a cuppa." He clasps his hands behind James's head, and pulls him in for a long, satisfying kiss. 

What remains of the evening is quiet. James insists on going home to sleep in his flat, as he does most weeknights. Maybe he needs some distance to absorb everything that's happened; God knows that Robbie does. 

* * *

At work the following day, they've got no time or privacy to talk about anything other than police business. James seems cheerful enough, except when he tears a strip off a DC he catches making rude remarks about a suspect's wife. Later, bent over his computer, Robbie hears him humming something melodic and complicated. (He makes the mistake of asking if it's Bach. James treats him to a reproachful look and a two-minute lecture about some Italian bloke named Corelli.) At the end of the day they go their separate ways: James to band rehearsal, Robbie to a bookstore for some much needed research materials. As he navigates the A40 towards Aylesbury, he takes a moment to be grateful that it's Friday.

Home at last, Robbie sits on the sofa and picks up his copy of _BDSM for Beginners_. That's not the actual title, just how he thinks of it. He's reading the chapter on 'power dynamics in relationships'. A lot of it is very familiar, because power dynamics is just fancy talk for authority. 

Robbie has been a copper for many years. From the first day he put on a uniform, he's held authority. He's done his best to wield it according to his oath, 'without favour or affection, malice or ill will'. He's given orders and taken orders throughout his career, and he knows that there's more than one kind of authority. There's the official sort, that comes with a set of letters in front of his name, and there's the other sort, that comes only with instinct and experience. 

DS Hathaway is under DI Lewis's authority. James and Robbie are lovers, equals. Legally, there's no distinction. DI Lewis could be brought up on charges for what Robbie does, even though the relationship was instigated by James. And now James has put himself under Robbie's authority. Where is _that_ going to lead them? He doesn't know, but he's got to confess that there's an unexpected appeal to it. The memory of James kneeling down, tenderly kissing his feet... if he's honest, it excites him. And scares him. 

It's nearly half ten when James returns from rehearsal. Robbie looks up, laying the book and his sheet of handwritten notes on the table. "Hello, pet. Erm... I was wondering, what's your safeword?" 

"What?" James almost drops his guitar. 

"Safeword." He frowns. "Don't tell me you've been playing without one?" The book is very clear on the importance of safewords. 

"How do you..." James seems to run out of words. 

Robbie holds up his book so that James can see the cover. "Told you I was reading up on this sort of thing." 

James stares at the book as if it's an alien artefact. "Where did you get that?" 

"Waterstones." When James continues to stare unbelievingly, Robbie adds, "In Aylesbury." 

"Right. I always used a safeword, but I'd... erm... prefer to pick a new one now." James cocks his head. "How about... Aquinas?" 

Robbie chuckles. "Good enough. Even you aren't likely to shout that out in bed." 

"Not likely, no." 

They sit on the sofa, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh through the news and a very bad mystery movie. "If I did me job like that, I'd've been sacked ages ago." 

"I can't imagine the Chief Super tolerating that kind of behaviour in her detectives," James agrees. 

Robbie yawns. "Bedtime. Come along, pet. We've a busy day tomorrow." In bed, they curl up in Robbie's favourite position, spooning, with James's long arms wrapped around him. He smiles, and fall asleep thinking about his plans, and how James is likely to react to them. 

* * *

The next day is Saturday, and they spend the morning apart. James has a dentist appointment. Robbie needs to buy a new pair of shoes; he reckons he'd almost rather go to the sodding dentist. Then it's off to the dry cleaners, to pick up two suits and a dozen shirts.

They rendezvous at the White Horse for lunch, and chat idly about ordinary things. Robbie limits himself to one pint. It's not so much the drive home that concerns him as the conversation to follow. 

Once in the flat, Robbie leads James to the sofa. "We need to talk about the ground rules." According to _BDSM for Beginners_ , some couples even have written contracts. Robbie thinks that's a bit much, but maybe those are folks who have extreme tastes, and need to be extra careful. Some of the things he's read about make him want to shudder, but... glass houses and all that. 

They settle on basic rules for a one-month trial period. Common sense stuff, really. Nothing noticeable in public, and nothing at all at work. They don't need that kind of distraction on the job. James pledges to make himself available to Robbie anytime outside working hours, as long as it doesn't interfere with his commitments to the band and to church. Robbie will stop instantly if James uses his safeword, but he'll likely ask for an explanation. "I want to understand what you don't like and why." 

"I may not always be able to articulate it," James says apologetically. 

"Fair enough, so long as you try." 

Sex won't include 'the kinky stuff' every time, Robbie decrees, and he'll be the one to decide what they'll do and when. 

"Of course." James looks surprised, as though he can't imagine any alternative. 

"That's settled, then." Robbie begins to stick out his right hand for a shake, chuckles, then grasps James's shoulder to pull him close for a kiss. _Mine_ , he thinks. _My James_. 

They return to the sofa after supper. "Take off your shirt," Robbie orders. James raises his brows, but does as he is told, without hesitation or question. "Turn around." Robbie holds up the length of rope he'd concealed in his trouser pocket, giving James plenty of time to object. All he receives in return is a dazzling smile. 

In less than a minute, James is sprawled against Robbie's side, hands securely tied behind his back. "Comfortable?" Robbie asks, though he tested the rope twice to make certain it wasn't too tight. 

"Yes, Sir." 

"Good." Robbie turns his attention to the telly, which is broadcasting a documentary about supervolcanoes. The narrator is explaining that the city of Tokyo could fit into the Yellowstone caldera when Robbie notices that James is trying to shift his upper body. 

"You all right?" 

"Fine, fine," James says, but under Robbie's steady gaze he confesses, "My left arm is tingling a bit." 

_I bollocksed it up_. Robbie's first impulse is to apologise and untie James, but damned if he's going to give in that easily. Turning, he grasps James by the shoulders and shifts him into an upright position. 

James bows his head. "Sorry, sorry." 

"Hush, love. You've done nothing wrong." Robbie kneads the left arm, beginning just above the elbow and working his way up to the shoulder. He repeats the massage on the other side. "That better?" He doesn't really need to hear the whispered 'yes, Sir'. The way that James's posture loosens is reply enough. Robbie scoots over, closing the distance between them, but making sure that James is sitting straight. Without a word, he turns towards James and flicks his thumbs across his nipples. 

"Ohhh..." James's eyes are wide with equal parts surprise and pleasure. He's always been very sensitive there, but apparently having his hands tied makes him react more strongly. 

For that matter, Robbie finds that he's responding more strongly than he expected. He's not planning to do much tonight, but just thinking about what he _could_ do with his James is intoxicating. His James. His to play with, to arouse and to tease. For a split second, he feels guilty. No, that's not right. He feels that he _ought_ to feel guilty for treating James like a possession, a toy—and for enjoying it, only... James is enjoying it, too. As Robbie continues to stroke and squeeze, he can see a growing bulge beneath his lover's jeans. He places his right hand on the spot. "Next time I reckon I should have you take everything off, so I can touch you properly. Or just watch you. I like watching you." 

James draws in a sharp breath. 

"Like that idea, do you? Maybe one of these days I'll tie you up nice and snug and watch you. No touching... just looking. And you could tell me about your fantasies." 

"Fantasies?" James's gaze is riveted to the floor. 

"The stories you used to tell yourself in bed while you were wanking," Robbie says matter-of-factly. "The stories about what you wanted someone to do to you. Or what you wanted them to make you do." He's pretty sure that none of those fantasies were as tame as what's happening now. Still, a man's got to start somewhere. 

James is silent, but the denim-covered bulge grows larger and harder. Robbie isn't sure if it's his touch or his words that are exciting James. Probably it's both. His own cock is starting to swell. He's more than half-tempted to remove James's trousers and his own clothes. No need for the bed. They've made do with the sofa before. 

_This wasn't the plan. You were going to tie his hands, then snuggle and kiss. Just take it slow, and see how you both feel about it._

_Never mind the sodding plan!_ It's pretty clear how they both feel about this. Robbie hadn't known how much it would excite him, how much of a difference a length of rope would make. As for James... his face is flushed, and he's slowly grinding his arse against the sofa cushion. The next word out of his mouth is more likely to be 'please' than 'Aquinas'. 

_Bonny lad, you make me lose control._ The thought jolts him like ice water. He's not out of control now, but it's a close thing. 

_What's the harm?_ the selfish side of him demands. 

_Probably none at all_. James is more than willing and this isn't exactly their first dance. Why not throw caution to the wind? 

"Sir?" 

_That's_ why not. That three-letter-word means it's his responsibility to be thinking about what James needs. How does he dare take control of James if he isn't in control of himself? 

Robbie draws in a long breath. "We're getting a bit ahead of ourselves, love." He slips an arm behind James's shoulders and pushes gently to make him lean forward. "I'd call this a successful experiment, Seems you do like being tied up." _And it seems I'm fond of it meself_. With a few deft tugs he loosens the knot and pulls the rope free. 

"Oh..." It's surprising how a single whispered syllable can carry so much disappointment. James stares at the piece of rope in Robbie's hands with undisguised longing. 

For once, Robbie's brain seems to be functioning. "Hold out your hand," he commands. He places the middle of the rope beneath James's right wrist and wraps the two ends up and over, repeating the motion until there's a wide cuff of rope encircling the wrist, and only two short tails remain. Robbie knots them tidily across the cuff. "You're not to take that off until I say." 

"Thank you, Sir." James lifts his wrist and gently touches his lips to the rope. 

"And don't I get a kiss?" Robbie teases. 

James takes hold of Robbie's right hand, smirks, and bestows a tender kiss on his bare wrist. 

Robbie shakes his head. "Soft lad." He turns towards the telly again and tries to watch the documentary, but it's hard to pay attention to supervolcanoes with a much more compelling force of nature sat beside him. 

* * *

For once, Robbie isn't the first to awaken. He stumbles into the kitchen to find James, freshly showered and dressed in jeans and a Cambridge sweatshirt. He's breakfasting on coffee and wholemeal toast with blackcurrant jam. "Morning."

"Good morning. I put the kettle on. Would you like some toast?" 

Robbie doesn't answer right away. He stares at the rope cuff on James's right wrist. It's wet. _He wore it in the shower_. 

James intercepts his look. "Sir? You told me not to take it off?" 

"Yeah, that's right," Robbie confirms. His mind is envisioning naked James in the shower. Naked, except for the rope that Robbie put on him to mark him as his own. 

"Toast?" James repeats. 

"What? No, thanks." Robbie seats himself at the table, and lets James pour him tea. Once he's drunk his first cuppa, he feels ready to tackle the question of food. He opens the cupboard and looks wistfully at the box of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes, then reaches for the Weetabix. If he's going to dominate a young, athletic lover, perhaps he should be eating healthier. Lyn would certainly approve of his decision; he doesn't want to imagine what she'd think about the reason. 

"So..." James says with deliberate casualness, "what are we doing today?" 

"This morning I've got errands to run. I'd like your company..." 

"Wither thou goest," James quips. 

Robbie looks again at the rope cuff. "Reckon I should take that off." It's not exactly a subtle accessory, and they will be out in public. James nods, holding his hand out. The wet rope is stiff, making it a little more difficult to untie, but Robbie manages it. 

He makes a snap decision. "Lift up your sweatshirt." James obeys instantly, though he looks puzzled. Robbie wraps the rope around James's waist. He knots it in the back. It won't interfere with breathing, but it's just tight enough that James will be constantly aware of the pressure against his skin. He pulls the sweatshirt down and inspects his handiwork. No sign of the rope beneath the thick fabric. "All right, then. We're off." 

The first errand is to a hardware store. It's one that Robbie uses often, preferring the small, family-run shop to a huge place like Homebase. He knows exactly where he needs to go. Quickly checking the labels, he pulls five plastic-wrapped coils of cotton rope from the shelf. He hands them to James, along with a banknote. 

"What's this?" 

Robbie shakes his head in mock dismay. "This is money and that is rope. You're gonna exchange one for the other, thereby doing your bit for the British economy." 

"That's quite a lot of rope." 

There's no one in the rear of the shop, but Robbie lowers his voice to a whisper. He shrugs, and deliberately scans James from head to toe. "There's quite of lot of you, and I intend to be very thorough at some point." James's eyes widen. "I don't remember the name of the technique—something Japanese—but there's a picture in me book of a lad done up as snug as a Christmas parcel. Seems like some presents don't have to be unwrapped to have fun playing with them." 

James lets out a long, shuddering sigh. 

"I'll wait in the car. You pay for these," Robbie instructs him, "and then join me when you're done. If the bloke asks what you need so much rope for, you can tell him whatever you please, but I want you to be thinking about what it's really for. Understand?" 

James's voice is rough, almost hoarse. "Yes, Sir." 

"Good lad." Robbie strides out of the shop, whistling cheerfully, if out of key. He returns to the car, which he left in the far, deserted corner of the car park. It's a good place to watch people. Five minutes later, it gives him an unobstructed view of James hurrying towards him. The tight jeans show off the long, athletic legs very nicely. It's almost a pity that James isn't going in the other direction, so Robbie can admire his arse. Later, he reminds himself. 

James gets into the driver's seat and hands Robbie the carrier bag with the coils of rope. Robbie throws it onto the back seat. He reaches behind James, stroking the back of his sweatshirt and feeling for the waist-rope beneath. He presses the flat of his hand against the knot so that it digs lightly into James's flesh. 

"Sir?" 

"Think of this as a promissory note," Robbie replies. "A reminder about tonight." 

James shivers. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. Erm... where now?" 

"Sainsbury's, to do the weekly shop." 

Once the shopping is finished, and the food safely stowed in Robbie's kitchen, they venture out for lunch. It's a fine day with only a light breeze, so they get coffee and a couple of ham baguettes at the Polish deli and take them to the small park across the way. There's a bench in one corner where they can sit and eat and talk. They talk about everything and nothing: the band's next gig, the mystery novel Robbie is reading, DI Harding's retirement do, and James's skillful tongue-lashing of the tactless DC Shillam. Robbie chuckles. No one who witnessed that scene would ever suspect the fearsome DS Hathaway of being a submissive. 

His thoughts drift to tonight, and the plans he's made for James. Is he taking things too fast? Or not fast enough? What in the world made him think that he could go through with this based on nothing more than his instincts and a paperback book?. 

Suddenly, he notices that James is looking at him oddly. "Robbie? Are you all right?" 

"Me? Sorry, pet. I was away with the fairies. Everything's fine." He hopes it's the truth. 

* * *

After supper, they’re sat on the sofa watching something forgettable. Robbie can feel his heart thumping wildly. He turns to James. “Strip.”

“Sorry, what?” 

“Take off your clothes.” James stands up. Before he takes more than two steps towards the bedroom, Robbie adds, “In here.” 

James blinks. Studies Robbie’s face. Presumably notices that Robbie is making no motion to remove his own clothes. In a few heartbeats, his expression goes from confusion to suspicion to hope. “Sir?” 

“I want you naked an' at my feet.” To emphasise his point, Robbie throws one of the sofa cushions onto the floor. 

“Sir!” James repeats, but this time it’s an affirmation of happy obedience. He’s bare-arsed and kneeling in less than thirty seconds. The only thing still on his body is the piece of rope that Robbie tied around his waist this morning. 

Robbie leans forward and presses a kiss on his lover’s forehead. “You look very tempting like that, but I reckon you should sit down. We need to wait a bit, let dinner digest. There's no reason for you to be uncomfortable.” 

A soft whimper escapes James’s lips, but he turns and sits on the cushion, long legs stretched out, back against the sofa, left shoulder pressed against Robbie’s right knee. Robbie lays his hand lightly on James's head and strokes his hair. The lad snuggles closer, his head tilting to expose the hollow of his pale, slender throat. 

Robbie swallows. This set-up is supposed to tease James, to get him hot and hard and wanting. He didn't expect it to have an equally strong effect on himself. He forces his attention back to the TV. 

"James," he says quietly. 

James straightens. "Sir?" 

Robbie tugs lightly on the rope that encircles his lover's waist. "Told you this was a promissory note. I reckon it's time I made good on the promise." James inhales sharply, and his cock springs up as quickly as if the rope was attached to it. He tugs again, and James stands, then follows him into the bedroom. He gestures at a thick foam pillow on the floor beside the bed. James drops to his knees. 

The packages of rope are on the nightstand on Robbie's side of the bed, along with a pair of very sharp scissors. _BDSM for Beginners_ is tucked away in the drawer of the nightstand. The rope pattern is a simple one that he can do by memory. 

Robbie stoops down behind James, and removes the rope around his waist. It's served its purpose. He ties James's wrists together behind his back, then checks that the rope is secure, but doesn't interfere with circulation. The ankles are next. He attaches a piece of rope to each ankle, then weaves them back and forth. The finished result reminds him of the old-fashioned police leg shackles, through the connecting 'chain' is shorter, allowing only minimal movement. 

Robbie taps on the inside of each thigh, silently commanding James to spread his knees wide, then presses down on his shoulders until the lad is sitting on his heels. The triangle position will help him keep his balance. He runs a short piece of rope through the wrist and ankle ties, and knots it, connecting them. This limits how far forward James can move his upper body. He stands up, and regards his handiwork with satisfaction. Very nice. Very nice indeed. 

He stands in the gap between James and the edge of the bed. "Do you trust me?" 

James tugs lightly at the various ropes holding him in place. "Do you really need to ask, Sir?" 

Robbie chuckles. It's a good sign if James is able to be sarky. "You remember your safeword?" 

"Aquinas, Sir." 

"Very good." Right. Enough of the friendly chit-chat. Now he's got to be that other person: 'Sir'. James's Dom. Is that what James really needs? Oh, he wants it, right enough, no question of that, but is it good for him? More to the point, is Robbie good for him? _If I bollocks this up, what'll it do to James?_ He lets out a long slow breath. Too late to be changing plans. 

He sits on the edge of the bed and looks down at his lover. What's going on in that head? Bowed as it is, Robbie can see only the sleek golden hair. The trouble with James is... Christ, there are so many ways that sentence can be finished. Right now, the trouble with James is that he thinks too much. That's an advantage on the job, or when they're trying to work out a problem. During sex, it can get in the way. Right now, James needs to feel, not think. And he needs to let Robbie take charge. So... distract him with desire, pleasure, and a need to serve. Underneath the details, it's not too different to interviewing a suspect. You need to know what motivates him, what buttons to push. Course, he doesn't want James to confess to a crime; he wants the lad to be happy. And he's got the advantage of knowing him. They've been lovers for months; friends and colleagues for years. 

Robbie places the tips of two fingers beneath James's chin and pulls upwards. James raises his head and immediately drops his gaze. "Look at me, James. Look. At. Me. Unless I tell you otherwise, all of your attention is on me, understand?" Instantly, those clear, sea-blue eyes are fixed on him. "Tell me, what do you want?" 

James's gaze flickers away, then back. "Sir?" 

"It's not a trick question, and there's no wrong answer," Robbie says patiently. "What do you want?" 

"I want to please you, Sir." 

"And you will," Robbie says. It's a command, a prediction, but most of all, a reassurance. "You're going to suck me off." James's eyes widen. "Go on, then." 

"Sir... you're still dressed." 

Robbie looks down at himself. "So I am." He stands, pulls off his rugby shirt, and throws it onto the chair in the corner. "You can take care of the rest." 

The crease in James's forehead is a good sign: that's his problem-solving expression. He'd probably be gnawing on his thumb, too, if his hands weren't tied behind his back. He leans cautiously forward and tilts his head to the right. Robbie can see him consider, then reject, the elastic waistband of the jogging bottoms. James takes a fold of cloth into his mouth. He clamps his teeth together and tugs. The bottoms shift a few inches down Robbie's left hip. 

James releases his grip on the cloth and bends to his left, repeating the biting-and-tugging routine on the other side. It's not easy. Because the rope on his ankles is fastened to the rope on his wrists, he can't lean too far forward. It's not painful. Robbie's sure of that because he tested the position himself in private, holding his hands behind his back as if they were tied. There's some mild strain on the shoulders, no more. He'd debated with himself how difficult to make the task. He doesn't want to hurt James, or frustrate him with impossible orders, but he suspects the lad won't feel he's done enough to please his Dom unless he's had to struggle a little. 

The zigzag routine continues for several minutes: tug on one side, tug on the other. In another circumstance, Robbie might find it amusing. Seen from above, James looks a bit like that drinking bird toy that Mark had when he was little: bobbing up and down, up and down. But when Robbie catches a glimpse of his face, it's a very different sight. James looks focused, both solemn and joyful, the way he is sometimes when he's lost in his music. 

Soon, both the jogging bottoms and his boxers are around Robbie's knees. That's as far as James can manage, bound as he is. "Good lad." Robbie strokes James's head. He steps out of the bottoms and sits back down on the edge of the bed. His cock is half-hard, and it won't take much to get him as stiff as a bollard. "You want to please me, yeah?" 

James begins to speak, but Robbie places a silencing finger against his lips. "Not a sound, unless you need to use your safeword. Right now, I've a much better use for that clever mouth." He doesn't need to give instructions or even a command. James is straining like a greyhound at the gate, and a simple nod is all the permission he needs. He leans forwards, swallowing Robbie's cock nearly to the root in one sudden motion. 

"Greedy," Robbie says, amused at his lover's eagerness. James flushes, and pulls back to focus gentler attentions on the head. He must've taken Robbie's joke as a criticism. Robbie doesn't know whether to be annoyed at himself for being careless or at James for being overly sensitive. _He ought to know when I'm joking!_ Still, the Dom is always responsible, and a careless word can be as hurtful as a careless touch. He's about to say something kind, when careful lips push back his foreskin and even more careful teeth scrape along the surface of the head. It's sensory overload, almost more pleasure than he can bear. 

_Jesus!_ He arches his back involuntarily, thrusting deeper into James's mouth. Looking down at that mouth, that clever, talented, busy mouth, he sees... he doesn't know what he sees. That might be a smile (often hard to tell with James, and near impossible with his lips stretched around Robbie's cock). Once again, he taps the underside of James's chin. James tilts his head up just enough for Robbie to study his eyes. They're wide with delight and dark with arousal. James blinks, and focuses on Robbie's face, his expression saying what his voice can't. _Sir?_

"Good lad. You're pleas—oh, God! Don't stop." He clasps his hands behind James's head, as if to prevent James from pulling back. Not that James is inclined to do any such thing. Robbie's desperate need is inspiring him to greater urgency. James licks, sucks and nibbles until Robbie falls apart, choking out a string of joyful profanities. 

He resists the temptation to fall backwards onto the bed and rest for a few thousand years. He can't. _Need... take care... James_. He looks down. His bonny lad is breathing fast. His face is flushed pink. The tip of his tongue reaches towards the left corner of his mouth and a milky trickle of come. 

"Leave that be," Robbie says, surprising both of them. James is normally fastidious after sex, fetching damp flannels to clean them up. Like a cat, he is: relaxed, tidy, self-contained. And now Robbie has a sudden desire to see him mussed and flustered and generally out of control. Not just the physical reactions that any man has when he comes, but emotionally out of control. He'd like very much to see that. He wants to see James Hathaway fall to pieces. And he wants to be the one to make it happen. 

And he can. For the first time since he became aware of James's... leanings, Robbie is thinking about his own desires. Everything he's done so far—the book, the planning, the ropes—has been mostly for James. He's enjoyed it all, but he hasn't yet done something purely to please himself. _Time I did just that_. 

He gets off the bed and unties James's wrists. "Stand up." He guides James onto the bed, moves him into a kneeling position, then pushes against the lad's head down. He makes adjustments here and there until James is arranged just so: arse in the air, knees spread, forehead pressed to the duvet. His balls and his stiff, eager cock are within easy reach. "Lovely," he murmurs, and ghosts one flat palm over the left arse cheek. James shivers. "You can speak now, if you want." 

"Thank you, Sir," James murmurs. 

Robbie studies James's position. That one wasn't in the book, but the list of online resources in the back had led him to a website with bondage pictures. The picture that illustrated this position was captioned 'slave alan ready for use and abuse'. The idea of abuse, even in play, sickens Robbie, and he's very glad it doesn't appeal to James. But there are other possibilities... He strokes gently along the underside of James's shaft. "Think I like you tied up this way. 'S very convenient. Next time I've got you like this, I want to be inside you. Fucking you." 

James breathes in sharply, and Robbie chuckles. It's taken James a while to understand that his lover can be as filthy-mouthed as any other copper when he chooses to be. 'Rumpy-pumpy' was a holdover from his married days, when he had young kids in the house, and didn't want to bring the ugliness of Vice into his home. "Suppose I should get on with it." He wraps his hand around James's very stiff cock and begins to pump it up and down. "Here's the plan," he adds cheerfully. "I'm going to play with you, pet, until you're desperate. And then I'm going to bring you off... or not." James whimpers but doesn't protest. Orgasm denial is on the list of acceptable activities. "I'm having trouble deciding which. Reckon I'll handle that the old-fashioned way." 

He leaves off wanking James and reaches for a 50p coin on the nightstand. "Heads you get to come tonight, tails you don't." He flips the coin, looks at the result, and returns to his previous activity. 

James is starting to tense, and it's not just because of Robbie's attention to his cock. "Sir?" 

"Yes, pet?" 

"What was it? The coin." 

"Not gonna tell you," Robbie replies. His left hand grasps James's balls and squeezes lightly, while his right hand keeps a steady rhythm. No need for anything fancy here. James is more aroused, but it's the stiffness in his back that Robbie's watching. "Look at me." 

James turns his head. "Sir?" 

"You need to relax." 

James huffs out a laugh. "Not exactly a relaxing situation, Sir." 

"You're fretting over the coin toss. Don't." He slows his pace. "James, you said you wanted to give control to me, and I think you meant that." 

"I did," James protests. "Sir." 

"Only, you want to know what's gonna happen, and that's you trying to keep control. I won't have that." James pulls a face. Clearly, he wants to deny what Robbie said, but he sees the truth in it. "Do you trust me, James?" 

"Yes, Sir." The reply is immediate. 

"You know that I won't do anything you haven't agreed to. And you always have your safeword. You can say it right this minute, if you want." 

"I _don't_ want, Sir! Please—" That's genuine distress in the lad's voice. 

_Bugger_. He was afraid that this might happen. James sees this as a sign that he's displeasing Robbie, that he's being put in an impossible situation that can only lead to failure. "Then just let go." 

"I can't... I'm sorry, Sir. I can't." 

_Bollocks to that_ , Robbie thinks, but he knows better than to say it aloud. He moves his left hand to James's back, and lets his fingers stroke in wide circles. "You gave yourself to me, and I can't tell you how amazing that feels. My James. All mine, yeah?" 

James nods jerkily. 

"Good lad. You've been trying very hard to please me. And right now you do please me. A lot. Just accept that whatever happens is up to me, and trust that I'll take care of you through it all." _And stop thinking so bloody much._ "Just let go. Concentrate on my hands, and where I'm touching you and how I'm making you feel." Deliberately, he strokes harder and faster. James lets out a soft moan, and Robbie feels an answering twinge in his own cock. He won't be able to go again tonight, but he'd have to be dead not to respond to the raw need in James's voice. Christ, the lad is beautiful when he's aroused. 

Robbie isn't normally one for a lot of talk in bed, but right now it's another way to keep James focused, so he keeps up a steady patter. "Love to watch you when you're like this, hard and aching and wanting desperately to come. And it would please me to keep you aching, to know how much you want me to bring you off. I could take you to the edge again and again, but never let you go over." The words, and the image they bring to mind excite Robbie more than he expected. "Then I'd put you on your back and tie your hands to the headboard so you wouldn't have to worry about being tempted to wank. And you'd lie there, aching, but knowing that your aching pleases me, because you look beautiful, but also because it's a gift to me. You gave that choice to me, love, the choice whether you come or not." Robbie feels both aroused and awestruck by the enormity of that gift. He couldn't do it, that's for certain. 

James is looking at him with an intensity that's almost frightening. Robbie isn't entirely sure what to make of that look, so he just keeps talking. "You're beautiful when you come, too: focused, but wild at the same time. Like a sodding lightning bolt, you are. And knowing that I can do that to you, it's... I've got no words for it. You've come so far... trusted me so much... take that last step." Somewhere in the back of his mind a dry voice reminds Robbie that the Dom isn't supposed to do the begging. _Sod that_. They'll do things their own way, just like always. 

"Sir," James whispers. 

"Yeah, love?" 

"Sir," James says again, and this time Robbie understands that it's not a question or a request. It's another gift. 

Robbie smiles. "The coin was heads." _God save the Queen_. And with a few swift tugs, he brings his James over the edge. 

He collapses flat on his back in blissful exhaustion. It would be lovely to stay like this for a few hundred years, only he's got to see to James. Can't leave him tied in that position for much longer. "James?" 

"Hmmmm?" 

"How are you feeling?" 

"Transcendent..." 

The word sounds familiar. He thinks it's got something to do with art, or maybe philosophy. Robbie waits, then sighs. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" 

"Good thing," James assures him. "Very, very good." His gaze goes distant, as it often does when he's searching his memory. "The real life of my senses and flesh, transcending my senses and flesh..." 

"Who's that, then? Not Shakespeare." 

"Walt Whitman. From his _Poem of Joys_. He was a man who appreciated the body as well as the soul." 

Robbie struggles into a sitting position, then stands, and smiles down at his lover. _Only James_ , he muses. Only James would lie there, restrained by rope, flesh glistening with sweat and semen, and deliver an impromptu lecture on poetry. He's got no idea what James sees, looking up at him, but the view from above is amazing. 

THE END


End file.
